Teflon. Xeon. Xeofleton (tm).
Besides that though there are several questions in need of answers.
Darkness can roll uphill, yes or no?
Beef wrapped in cooked pork and re-heated can be tasty and nutrikious, yes?
Your left foot becomes your right food in the Southern hemisphere, true or false?
Something so bright that your eyes literally roll right off of it?
That's right. Xeofleton.
Just wait till the order of Adamantine comes in. That's gonna be the hull plating,
then a nice sheeting of Xeofleton is gonna make the boat into the best and brightest
float out there.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Bookend
Orange juice. Good for you, tasty, and clearly not what you are. Unless of course youare teh special kind of orange juice which has become both literate and sentient. In which case, I'm really les than sure how you'd also learnt the art of interstellar travel and popped the 63 odd light years it takes to get between your world and ours. Then again, sentient, literate orange juice may just be capable of such a feat. After those first steps that leap across time and space may turn into the instant it really is. At any rate, maybe using the juicer this morning wasn't a good idea. No offense. Really. Not like I could have known that you'd be related, feel empathy for your own kind, or anything. I was just in it for the shot of vitamin C and the tasty and wild sugar rush that follows consumption of pure sweet jiuce.And again with the chickens and teh kittehz. Good friends they are. Romeo and Juliet, Napoleon and Waterloo, Brutus and Caesar, Dust and Wind, Creator and Destroyer, players on the same ballroom floor. Actors and audience, predator and prey, it's a clear plastic wrapper around the candy of reality. Sugar coated and nice, awaiting consumption. Communion in another place, Time. Cut into halves, now edible, discernable, quantifiable, communicable packets of the greater whole. A refined sugar for your morning tea and biscuits.
I rather prefer orange juice, thank you.
Monday, October 01, 2007
Starshine
No animals were harmed during testing.
Question being... is it really an animal when it's all just protons, electrons and neutrinos.
Ya know, should I be an extra-dimensional being sent here to study this manifold extension into space/time I'd kinda wonder.... like about the perceived differences in all existence.
As it's all the same. Unless you sit inside comparing inside to inside. Insides appear distinct and different when viewed from inside.
Outside looking at inside appears uniform and utterly the same. And actually is.
An apple, crescent wrench, and lithium. From inside look distinct. The arrangements of the blocks creating a differences. Though outside I'm just seeing blocks. All the same blocks, over and over and over again.
Question being... is it really an animal when it's all just protons, electrons and neutrinos.
Ya know, should I be an extra-dimensional being sent here to study this manifold extension into space/time I'd kinda wonder.... like about the perceived differences in all existence.
As it's all the same. Unless you sit inside comparing inside to inside. Insides appear distinct and different when viewed from inside.
Outside looking at inside appears uniform and utterly the same. And actually is.
An apple, crescent wrench, and lithium. From inside look distinct. The arrangements of the blocks creating a differences. Though outside I'm just seeing blocks. All the same blocks, over and over and over again.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Musikal Time Machine
Music keeps really good time. Sometimes it switches timebases mid-flow. Except it appears to always be metronomic and consistently periodic. It would be sweet to steal a time machine and go back and listen to really old music. Before strings and metallurgy and such. Maybe those old old compositions were the inspiration for timekeeping, or maybe timekeeping was the inspiration for music. Either way it'd be ironic and symmetric that your time machine went back to research
music and in the process started creating music. See all you really got to do to build yourself a time machine is to play some music. Do it. You'll see. Back, back, back in time you go. To do it right of course and transport yourself physically back in time is gonna take some pretty crazy loud noise. So I hope you have understanding neighbors. While you're back there please dont step on anything, or give it a cold. I don't want you changing my present into your non-linear, unintentional temporal mistake.
music and in the process started creating music. See all you really got to do to build yourself a time machine is to play some music. Do it. You'll see. Back, back, back in time you go. To do it right of course and transport yourself physically back in time is gonna take some pretty crazy loud noise. So I hope you have understanding neighbors. While you're back there please dont step on anything, or give it a cold. I don't want you changing my present into your non-linear, unintentional temporal mistake.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
The Golden Wumpus
Once in a land far, far, away there was a tree. Now this was by all accounts an ordinary tree. Indeed, being a perfectly ordinary tree ment that it didn't go to the ATM all that often. In fact never. Not even once. For during it's brief lifespan of 12 and 7/8 years it never once uprooted itself and walked to an ATM. Now of course it never will. At least not in the sense of being a tree. For you see, a supernova in your celestial backyard is a world shaping event. Much like the invention of frictionless steam propulsion. So the next thing you know, this tree is all blasted into molecular oblivion and stuff. Bit's and pieces flying all about the ethers, as the entire planet was forcibly reassembled in a surprisingly large, fast, and rather destructive manner. This little tree ended it's brief sojurn upon it's earth and was replaced by an amalgamation of gold atoms. The kind that form as all manner of forces bend and crush things into things which are different than the things of which they previously were. Now this tree happened to be a tree, now it happened to just be a bunch of gold atoms... winging their way out the vicinity of the cataclysm. As everybody knows you don't mock a wumpus. If you don't, you will. Especially don't infuriate a wumpus who's just eaten half a parsec of former planetary remains and just discovered that it was laced with gold particles. Don't say I didn't warn you. Not like you have any excuse for mocking a golden wumpus, as they are rather hard to mistake for a normal wumpus, whilst giving off a nice radioactive afterglow. At any rate steer well clear of them. You never do know, they could end up meeting up with the golden calf and next thing you know you've gotten yourself halfway to a menagerie of golden themed animal/god-like creatures to contend with.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Are you being served?
In the world of instant communication, television, intarwebs, cell-phones and twisted-pair spooky action at a distance entanglements this critter dares ask the question... am I being served?
Indeed you are my friend, indeed you are.
Electronic mana raining from the heavens, filling your little head with all manners of thoughts. 24/7 entertainment straight cross the pipes and into your abode.
Served like nobodies business. In fact, tis time for contrarian Bob to make an appearance... it's EVERYBODIES business you are into.
Now that the world is your circus and your digital daily bread is delivered straight into your sparking little ne0-cortex of utter impressibility. You ARE BEING SERVED.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
More to come
Welcome to vertigo
Cantor, Boltzmann, Godel, Turing. Meet Adams.
Sometimes the restaurant at the end of the universe does indeed serve the best possible BLT.
Question being, is a BLT still a BLT if there is no-one there to taste it?
Though reality is simply a milk-shake, and yes, you can get fries with that.
Oh, and by the way.... This is true. QED.
Cantor, Boltzmann, Godel, Turing. Meet Adams.
Sometimes the restaurant at the end of the universe does indeed serve the best possible BLT.
Question being, is a BLT still a BLT if there is no-one there to taste it?
Though reality is simply a milk-shake, and yes, you can get fries with that.
Oh, and by the way.... This is true. QED.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Ring of Darkness
Wrapping this all up in a nice golden bough for you, so get out your hatchet, ceremonial knife, machete, mace, or preferred trauma inducing instrument of kingmaking
This goes out to you Kurtz. The jungle maybe crazy. You may not be. Though the quest for your absolute pristine white whale of perfect goodness may get you drowned. Or chopped up. Crystalline diamonds are conceptualization wraiths, vivid and bright and without substance.
Good fresh tilled earth would have told you this. So would a hobbit. Though I'm sure a scarcity of hobbits coupled with the iconoclastic rants of absolute infatuated elves contributed to your taking hold of the one ring and binding yourself to it's fate. Maybe I'll just start calling you Isildur. Maybe Saruman. He had his uber-orcs, you had montangnards. Though that's splitting hairs.
How in these tales of the ages does the PBR get morphed to an ill-fated fellowship? Well at least Conrad and Copola got their question answered. Though those are just questions posed again and again and only now recently heard again.
Maybe they had it right all those centuries ago, and it's all just about that crazy little sprig near the spring and power is absolutely corrupting... so you'd better make it's cost terrible and swift.
This goes out to you Kurtz. The jungle maybe crazy. You may not be. Though the quest for your absolute pristine white whale of perfect goodness may get you drowned. Or chopped up. Crystalline diamonds are conceptualization wraiths, vivid and bright and without substance.
Good fresh tilled earth would have told you this. So would a hobbit. Though I'm sure a scarcity of hobbits coupled with the iconoclastic rants of absolute infatuated elves contributed to your taking hold of the one ring and binding yourself to it's fate. Maybe I'll just start calling you Isildur. Maybe Saruman. He had his uber-orcs, you had montangnards. Though that's splitting hairs.
How in these tales of the ages does the PBR get morphed to an ill-fated fellowship? Well at least Conrad and Copola got their question answered. Though those are just questions posed again and again and only now recently heard again.
Maybe they had it right all those centuries ago, and it's all just about that crazy little sprig near the spring and power is absolutely corrupting... so you'd better make it's cost terrible and swift.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Sulphur Fries
Around the world there is tea steeping. In my cup too at the moment as well.
Around the world there is music playing. In my ears too at the moment as well.
Around the world there is breathing people. In my house at the moment as well.
Around the well there are lots of living moments in the world.
Around the world there is music playing. In my ears too at the moment as well.
Around the world there is breathing people. In my house at the moment as well.
Around the well there are lots of living moments in the world.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Tyrone Nicholas
You are somebody else. You and everyone else.
Seems to me to be a bit dissonant.
That you could be named Tyrone.
Then again so could someone else.
However, me, myself, and we are not the Tyrone.
No sir.
Not even Tyrone in the royal we.
Definately not even with green eggs and ham.
Jack or St those could not be Tyrone.
Though they can both be Nicholas.
Indeed both are. Which is quite wonderful.
That you be not Tyrone and just Nicholas.
Especially when it comes to make the money shot.
That's when I get teh confused though. OR used to.
These days I've determined Jack exists, but that St
does not. Know how... taxes. Jack pays his. St Nicholas
does not. No way he'd cross international and state
borders delivering unlimited amount of playful goods
without one form or another of the government
getting their cut.
No sir.
Seems to me to be a bit dissonant.
That you could be named Tyrone.
Then again so could someone else.
However, me, myself, and we are not the Tyrone.
No sir.
Not even Tyrone in the royal we.
Definately not even with green eggs and ham.
Jack or St those could not be Tyrone.
Though they can both be Nicholas.
Indeed both are. Which is quite wonderful.
That you be not Tyrone and just Nicholas.
Especially when it comes to make the money shot.
That's when I get teh confused though. OR used to.
These days I've determined Jack exists, but that St
does not. Know how... taxes. Jack pays his. St Nicholas
does not. No way he'd cross international and state
borders delivering unlimited amount of playful goods
without one form or another of the government
getting their cut.
No sir.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
Orinocco Sunset
Chicken = Diet Beef
Diet Beef = Fat Happy Consumer
Fat Happy Consumer = Chicken
So, clearly one can simply equate chicken and chicken as being the same thing. However, the astute among you will not that chicken is not chicken is not chicken. Perhaps someday with advanced cloning techniques chicken is chicken is chicken. Until that august day arrives, heralding a new era of uniform, clean, wholesome, economical, and tasty fried up goodness we are living in a world of chaos. CHOAS!!!! I tell you. It makes me quiver and sad everytime I eats the McGnugget knowing that it's an amalgamation of hundreds of different chickens. Someday my dream of eatting hundreds of ground up indentical chickens shall be bourne out. Chickens come out of their shells. Just like a unix prompt... they all come from somewhere... so maybe, just maybe someday instead of init spawning them it will be a vat of industrial protoplasmic incubatory gel. Multitudes of thousands of billions of identical chickens rising forth from that primordial ooze... and onto my dinnar plate. Num num num. I eat you all my good dear chicken freinds. You so tasty with a bit of cornmeal, salt, pepper and rendered bacon-fat lard. Even more tasty as I can tell you all taste exactly teh same nows! Long live the one true chicken of culinary goodness. Through your flesh we gain everlasting life, my avian culinary friend! May you live a quick and short life, and grace my plate with your presence. It does make you wonder though... if communion is like a cloning thing, and always the same bit o' the creator, or is it more like a special little peice just for you everytime?
Diet Beef = Fat Happy Consumer
Fat Happy Consumer = Chicken
So, clearly one can simply equate chicken and chicken as being the same thing. However, the astute among you will not that chicken is not chicken is not chicken. Perhaps someday with advanced cloning techniques chicken is chicken is chicken. Until that august day arrives, heralding a new era of uniform, clean, wholesome, economical, and tasty fried up goodness we are living in a world of chaos. CHOAS!!!! I tell you. It makes me quiver and sad everytime I eats the McGnugget knowing that it's an amalgamation of hundreds of different chickens. Someday my dream of eatting hundreds of ground up indentical chickens shall be bourne out. Chickens come out of their shells. Just like a unix prompt... they all come from somewhere... so maybe, just maybe someday instead of init spawning them it will be a vat of industrial protoplasmic incubatory gel. Multitudes of thousands of billions of identical chickens rising forth from that primordial ooze... and onto my dinnar plate. Num num num. I eat you all my good dear chicken freinds. You so tasty with a bit of cornmeal, salt, pepper and rendered bacon-fat lard. Even more tasty as I can tell you all taste exactly teh same nows! Long live the one true chicken of culinary goodness. Through your flesh we gain everlasting life, my avian culinary friend! May you live a quick and short life, and grace my plate with your presence. It does make you wonder though... if communion is like a cloning thing, and always the same bit o' the creator, or is it more like a special little peice just for you everytime?
Words to Live By
Land into the wind. Do not piss into the wind.
Stop. Drop. Roll. In that order. Roll, drop and stop may result in injury.
Do not fixate on the horizon. Fixate on death or taxes. They don't hurt as much at higher speeds.
Don't forget your towel. A buffered analgesic is also nice. Beer nuts will smooth your landing further.
Avoid large yellow construction machinery. It ends bad for fleshies.
Stop. Drop. Roll. In that order. Roll, drop and stop may result in injury.
Do not fixate on the horizon. Fixate on death or taxes. They don't hurt as much at higher speeds.
Don't forget your towel. A buffered analgesic is also nice. Beer nuts will smooth your landing further.
Avoid large yellow construction machinery. It ends bad for fleshies.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Monday, July 30, 2007
38% Remaining
So let me tell you about my boat. It's a barge really. Good coal hauling kind of deal. Not like the Edmund Fitzgerald. Bituminous low-sulfur coal the kind that is coveted. Powder River kind of stuff. Not the cheap 33% more polluting type. It's a dream in this icewater nation. Good haul is gonna end up freezing it in your fridge. Eventually. A bit of transmission, generation, burning, in no particular order, and you got yourself frosty ice.
Curl
How is teh wave? The oscillations lulled you to sleep yet? Or did the final approach take a turn to the side, roll and lapse into a singular orbital point? You don't see gravity. Light neither. Radio, nor TV. Yet the static is there playing in analog glory 24/7. Didn't fall off the world. Yet. And that wave of quanta. Makes real sense. The wave you see it's oscillation. The point it's all collapsed and possibility grounded. What you got going on is a variable differential machine called thine eye. It doesn't see NOW. It sees each side of now. The wave. You don't experience NOW. You experiences each side of now. You are you know. A surfer who does not exist.
Communing with the dead
You are of course. Takes a very long time to realize it.
Once you do nothing will be the same.
That should be enough. Literally and figuratively.
Though the dead don't hear so well. Sometimes like with the hearing impaired you have to repeat yourself.
You are of course. Takes a very long time to realize it.
Once you do nothing will be the same.
Though the dead don't think so well. Sometimes like with students you have to repeat yourself.
You are of course. Takes a very long time to realize it.
Once you do nothing will be the same.
Though the dead don't live now. Sometimes like with each day they have to repeat themselves.
You are of course. Takes a very long time to realize it.
Once you do nothing will be the same.
Once you do nothing will be the same.
That should be enough. Literally and figuratively.
Though the dead don't hear so well. Sometimes like with the hearing impaired you have to repeat yourself.
You are of course. Takes a very long time to realize it.
Once you do nothing will be the same.
Though the dead don't think so well. Sometimes like with students you have to repeat yourself.
You are of course. Takes a very long time to realize it.
Once you do nothing will be the same.
Though the dead don't live now. Sometimes like with each day they have to repeat themselves.
You are of course. Takes a very long time to realize it.
Once you do nothing will be the same.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Furry Leaper
So there is a cat in Providence, RI. Normal.
This cat can tell when the soul is about to leave the body. AKA Death. Also Normal.
The news outlets are astounded. Again... Normal.
Science will investigate. Normal.
Why oh why is this news? Maybe if this cat could talk and claim to be a tulku incarnation of a long dead lama it would totally be news. Since cats don't talk yet... it's not a newsworthy story. Even it the incarnation part is totally true. I'd totally be renaming the cat Bardo as well. Cats with the ability to span worlds named Oscar? Maybe if he was in movies that would be a good name, but it's a sad horribly demeaning name for a pan-demensional being such as this.
Warning: do not read further.
Ok, you're dumb. Now you pay. How long before super sensitive CAT scans are used to read the brains of cats and provide synthesized speech output of their missives? I really really should start this company now, get rich and retire. Everybody wants to know what their pets are thinking. I can tell you though... Oscar he's thinking one thing.... "get the hell away from me". Then when he senses someone is dying and won't be around to ignore anymore he switches to "pay attention to me". Maybe I'll just make a nice shiney box with lights and an LED display. It switches between the two messages based upon a proximity detector built into a special collor that the cats are required to wear in order to "scan" their brain-waves. Nobody will be able to tell the difference between the two-state thing and a real CAT scanner. It'll save a lot of time and development effort... and ultimately lower costs so everybody can have one and know exactly what their cat is thinking.
"Food."
This cat can tell when the soul is about to leave the body. AKA Death. Also Normal.
The news outlets are astounded. Again... Normal.
Science will investigate. Normal.
Why oh why is this news? Maybe if this cat could talk and claim to be a tulku incarnation of a long dead lama it would totally be news. Since cats don't talk yet... it's not a newsworthy story. Even it the incarnation part is totally true. I'd totally be renaming the cat Bardo as well. Cats with the ability to span worlds named Oscar? Maybe if he was in movies that would be a good name, but it's a sad horribly demeaning name for a pan-demensional being such as this.
Warning: do not read further.
Ok, you're dumb. Now you pay. How long before super sensitive CAT scans are used to read the brains of cats and provide synthesized speech output of their missives? I really really should start this company now, get rich and retire. Everybody wants to know what their pets are thinking. I can tell you though... Oscar he's thinking one thing.... "get the hell away from me". Then when he senses someone is dying and won't be around to ignore anymore he switches to "pay attention to me". Maybe I'll just make a nice shiney box with lights and an LED display. It switches between the two messages based upon a proximity detector built into a special collor that the cats are required to wear in order to "scan" their brain-waves. Nobody will be able to tell the difference between the two-state thing and a real CAT scanner. It'll save a lot of time and development effort... and ultimately lower costs so everybody can have one and know exactly what their cat is thinking.
"Food."
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
estaoG
Dear Friends,
I would like to offer my condolences. By all appearances your wonderful democratic experiment has begun to falter, if not fail, outright.
This should come as no surprise to the learned. However, it still may come as a shock.
In any case, the rather unfortunate circumstances you now find yourselves in is both unenviable and likely untenable. Allegorically it is much like the quest and attainment of power, an initial rush, followed by the crushing burden of accountability. I fear that the lessons of yesteryear are left fallow both at an academic and practical level. Assuredly this shall close to predictable and pitiable results.
It must be ironic, if not outright laughable, that dictatorship, despotism, and democracy now all appear to be synonymous in the minds of many.
In closing I would simply leave you of the words of Seneca:
What narrow innocence it is for one to be good only according to the law.
My warmest regards,
V
I would like to offer my condolences. By all appearances your wonderful democratic experiment has begun to falter, if not fail, outright.
This should come as no surprise to the learned. However, it still may come as a shock.
In any case, the rather unfortunate circumstances you now find yourselves in is both unenviable and likely untenable. Allegorically it is much like the quest and attainment of power, an initial rush, followed by the crushing burden of accountability. I fear that the lessons of yesteryear are left fallow both at an academic and practical level. Assuredly this shall close to predictable and pitiable results.
It must be ironic, if not outright laughable, that dictatorship, despotism, and democracy now all appear to be synonymous in the minds of many.
In closing I would simply leave you of the words of Seneca:
What narrow innocence it is for one to be good only according to the law.
My warmest regards,
V
Hot Hot Hot Like Ice
In spinach we trust.
Eat any good organic foods lately? Done any cancer-fighting, food mulching, spirit lifting quaffing of healthful bio-shakes? Maybe you should. From everything I hear you are what you eat. So why not head out and eat the best possible things you can lay your filthy, grubby, chubby little fingers on. I don't care if you are full. Eat some more. It shows everyone just how rich, successful, prosperous and well-to-do you've become. What better way to reflect your societal status than through exposing your size 42 waistline as you bend over to tie your shoe only to straighten back up and realize it's not worth the effort. So in addition to making door width expansion kits, I'm going to look into a shoe tying service. Why should you be terrified of bending over and not being able to stand back up, or worse yet, falling over and rolling downhill and crashing into an abandoned paint factory stockpiled with hazardous chemicals which are released as your rotundness rolls through the flimsy walls spraying industrial effluent about the joint? You should not. I'm hear to tell you that you need not leave in fear any more of typing your shoes. We'll have somebody take care of it for you. Trust us. We are the dependable shoe tying experts. Bar none. Ooops. Hope I didn't make you hungry with that. LOL. Oh wait, that's right, we're here to talk about the wonderus world of good food eating. It'll make you regular, thin, happy and well-adjusted. I seen it on the Tee-Vee last night. How's about you stop blocking teh tube and gets me another beer, eh?
K, CRa, CRa, CRa. Dance for the monkey everybody! And now back to our regularirly scheduled program. Ciao, over, good night, and god-speed. May the road rise to meet you and all your eating establishments stock hot fatty foods.
Eat any good organic foods lately? Done any cancer-fighting, food mulching, spirit lifting quaffing of healthful bio-shakes? Maybe you should. From everything I hear you are what you eat. So why not head out and eat the best possible things you can lay your filthy, grubby, chubby little fingers on. I don't care if you are full. Eat some more. It shows everyone just how rich, successful, prosperous and well-to-do you've become. What better way to reflect your societal status than through exposing your size 42 waistline as you bend over to tie your shoe only to straighten back up and realize it's not worth the effort. So in addition to making door width expansion kits, I'm going to look into a shoe tying service. Why should you be terrified of bending over and not being able to stand back up, or worse yet, falling over and rolling downhill and crashing into an abandoned paint factory stockpiled with hazardous chemicals which are released as your rotundness rolls through the flimsy walls spraying industrial effluent about the joint? You should not. I'm hear to tell you that you need not leave in fear any more of typing your shoes. We'll have somebody take care of it for you. Trust us. We are the dependable shoe tying experts. Bar none. Ooops. Hope I didn't make you hungry with that. LOL. Oh wait, that's right, we're here to talk about the wonderus world of good food eating. It'll make you regular, thin, happy and well-adjusted. I seen it on the Tee-Vee last night. How's about you stop blocking teh tube and gets me another beer, eh?
K, CRa, CRa, CRa. Dance for the monkey everybody! And now back to our regularirly scheduled program. Ciao, over, good night, and god-speed. May the road rise to meet you and all your eating establishments stock hot fatty foods.
Magicians
Heimdall and Loki would lie entwined in death, the rainbow bridge bathed in white light, the need for guards gone. The ravens set loose upon the world transmuted into golden dragons. That will be the day the last Magician dies.
Thrall, enthralled... be appalled.
A pallor upon you lies when Magicians are in your parlor. Whispering through airwaves, soundwaves, and ensnaring webs. Their words, thoughts, and voices, floating through your door.
The past is before you, laid upon the table. The future behind, out of sight.
Magicians spin time, hopes and desires. Statuary images to catch and enliven dreams. You've been told the lights are out while a Magician holds a guttering candle in front of the sun.
How about a free sample? How's it taste? Oh wait, you mean I have to buy that?
Magicians... leaders, purveyors of passivity, conformity. The last blast of Gjallarhorn calling all who hear. Magicians one and all. Upon the Bifrost bridge, you'll stand up.
The door is open.
Thrall, enthralled... be appalled.
A pallor upon you lies when Magicians are in your parlor. Whispering through airwaves, soundwaves, and ensnaring webs. Their words, thoughts, and voices, floating through your door.
The past is before you, laid upon the table. The future behind, out of sight.
Magicians spin time, hopes and desires. Statuary images to catch and enliven dreams. You've been told the lights are out while a Magician holds a guttering candle in front of the sun.
How about a free sample? How's it taste? Oh wait, you mean I have to buy that?
Magicians... leaders, purveyors of passivity, conformity. The last blast of Gjallarhorn calling all who hear. Magicians one and all. Upon the Bifrost bridge, you'll stand up.
The door is open.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Postage Stamp
Oh you are not certain about stamps are you? They come with Elvis, snowflakes, and Tweety. They just don't come down in price. Ever. Sometimes if I was a super leet yet nerdy kind of person... not to name names Horatio Hornblower.... I would collect lots and lots of them and put them in big moldering books for safe storage --physical and temporal mind you. Then I'd wonder on vacation if my home were being robbed and all my precious collectibles being fenced on e-bay. Thoughts would turn to natural disasters such as locusts, glue eating moths, and Lothar of the Hill people bounding out of the woods to ransack, burn and defecate in my abode. Of course he'd be doubled over with laughter and mirth as he ran back into the woods with my stamp collection under his hairy arms. That's the kind of pressure I don't think I could handle. Stamps are not for me. Plus everytime I buy some I have to go back like a week later and buy 200 two cent stamps so I can have the mail use me again. One thing maybe missing though... scratch-n-sniff stamps. Those I may just go for. Especially in the basement. Put up like a whole wall or walls of stamps and then turn on some Black Flagg, drop acid and thrash myself to death against their sickly sweet smell. Now that's a Friday night. Or maybe I'd use two expensive stamps on one envelope and just waste them that way. Drive those penny pinchers mad it will. Course in this day and age maybe a cost-benefit-analysis of stamp based clothing is in order. I mean how much COULD it really cost to jump out of the shower without toweling off and slather on a bunch of stamp books instead of clothes. It'd be sanitary, clean, and bio-degrable stamps are good for the environment. Win win win! Matter of fact...
FTW! Wear stamps. Hell lets get wild. Fund the war effort with stamps. Do it today. Be part of the solution. Wear War Stamps!
FTW! Wear stamps. Hell lets get wild. Fund the war effort with stamps. Do it today. Be part of the solution. Wear War Stamps!
Sunday, July 22, 2007
áes sídhe
Dwellers of the Otherworld.
Runners in the night. Cloaked speckled with night-vision. Wraiths lifting veils of dust.
Travelogues of the world. Pieces of eight. Turnings of the wheel. Swapped time slice.
Demigods portray the wares. Travelers to covet. And end up above it.
In loft houses atop the Otherworld.
A suburban mirage. Bought and sold in the market.
Deaf, whilst the pipes play on and on.
Runners in the night. Cloaked speckled with night-vision. Wraiths lifting veils of dust.
Travelogues of the world. Pieces of eight. Turnings of the wheel. Swapped time slice.
Demigods portray the wares. Travelers to covet. And end up above it.
In loft houses atop the Otherworld.
A suburban mirage. Bought and sold in the market.
Deaf, whilst the pipes play on and on.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Perspective... and not cuz blogger is teh mads
A wave, a line, a point. Which side you on? Kinda matters.
Though they all look the same to me. Gonna stare sideways, straight on, or from within? I'm gonna laugh when you cant tell the difference. Especially once you're travelling the same speed as the wave and it's not no more. Go ahead call the cops. Maybe they'll tell you the world is flat and the earth is the center of the universe. Wouldn't that be nice.
Though they all look the same to me. Gonna stare sideways, straight on, or from within? I'm gonna laugh when you cant tell the difference. Especially once you're travelling the same speed as the wave and it's not no more. Go ahead call the cops. Maybe they'll tell you the world is flat and the earth is the center of the universe. Wouldn't that be nice.
CAt in the hat, not the box
The cat in the box... to bad it's out of the bag now.
See like I'm now surfing on the wave... and from there the perspective is all different. It's just a point. So now what I've got is a quantum collapse and fixed state. I'm surfing your reality. You got nothing but possible waves. I've taken your infinite possibilities and made it mine. My universe, my collapsed waveform. Just me and my wave, and now point. Literally NOW point. Surf that wicked curl BRA.
See like I'm now surfing on the wave... and from there the perspective is all different. It's just a point. So now what I've got is a quantum collapse and fixed state. I'm surfing your reality. You got nothing but possible waves. I've taken your infinite possibilities and made it mine. My universe, my collapsed waveform. Just me and my wave, and now point. Literally NOW point. Surf that wicked curl BRA.
Dodge Ram Seige Engine
It's a post-apocalyptic narco-oil based economy.
You're all set up someplace, nice and cozy with your women, oil, and lots and lots of razor wire.
Somebody shows up outside your gates one day. They've what looks like a nice big four-wheeled siege engine. Could be trouble.
Then you see it. Dodge Ram. In nice chrome letters on the side.
What should you do?
Laugh, then give them gasoline so they can stop pushing the thing and save face...
or
Open the gates and welcome a potential customer...
You're all set up someplace, nice and cozy with your women, oil, and lots and lots of razor wire.
Somebody shows up outside your gates one day. They've what looks like a nice big four-wheeled siege engine. Could be trouble.
Then you see it. Dodge Ram. In nice chrome letters on the side.
What should you do?
Laugh, then give them gasoline so they can stop pushing the thing and save face...
or
Open the gates and welcome a potential customer...
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